Letters to a Lover
by Agon Dy
Summary: Set in the future of LND. A series of letters written back and forth between Gustov, his loves, and his family.  Gus/OFC/OFC Erik/Chris.  Rating for violence and adult themes. AU for all fandoms.
1. Last Night of the Monster

_A few items of business to take care of before we get into the story:_

_1. This story will be written by three different people with three very different characters and writing styles. This means updates will be infrequent! Please bear with us as this story has not been written beforehand and only tentative plans have been hashed out._

_2. To keep with realism, these stories will not be shared between the authors BEFORE they are uploaded here. The author that is writing the return letter will be viewing the uploaded letter at the same time as our readers. Please respect this and have patience with slow updates._

_3. Flames will be used to "light up a mean blaze with posters and screenplays"._

_4. This story is posted on two profiles with the permission of all authors involved. We are open to posting on other sites but please ask first._

_5. Disclaimer: We, the authors, do solemnly swear we are up to no- wait... Sorry, that's the wrong disclaimer. *shuffles around and picks up a paper* Here we go. We do not own The Phantom of the Opera, Love Never Dies, Twilight, TruBlood, The Southern Vampire Mysteries, or any other fandom which seems familiar. These are the property of their respective owners and we earn no money from the events written herein. Boo. We do own the plot idea and any characters not cannon to a recognized fandom._

_Now, on with the show!_

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><p>Gustov,<p>

It's been horrible here since you left. Cor's been trying her best but... an imprint's wife is no substitute for an imprint. She finally brought in help which is why I'm writing to you. Father thinks it will help calm the 'beast inside'. Whatever. I have to be careful what I write so I guess I'll just have to write things that are common knowledge, huh? You know I'm from Shreveport, but I wasn't born there. I've only lived there for about half my life. Originally I'm from Missouri- St. Louis in fact. Both of my parents were Weres. I'm told my mother was a Werehyena, but this wasn't from Dad and I've never met her, so I don't know how true it is. My Dad, on the other hand was a Werewolf. He was pretty high up in our- his- pack hierarchy, so I was pretty firmly entrenched in St Louis' supernatural community.

It's tough growing up surrounded by werewolves and not being one yourself. I love how I grew up, don't get me wrong, but I lived in constant danger that I would be bitten. At the same time, I always felt perfectly safe. I knew I was loved and wanted. I was a teenager and I still believed that most families were full of love. I found out that month how wrong I was. I was sixteen years old when I was first told of the young boy Peter had bitten- the boy who would later become my best friend and confidant...

0o0o0o0

_Most of the wolves gathered during the new moon once a month at the house for cookout or other event, including those who were unable (or did not wish) to attend a Gathering. My father believed it increased morale among the Pack and for the most part he was right because it gave all of the wolves a sense of belonging to something bigger than them. Usually that was the only time I saw most of the Pack. However, if something goes wrong, members of the Pack are required to report to the Lukoi, the Pack Leader, who just so happened to be my father. Peter was one of the wolves who preferred waking in the comfort of their own homes rather than on the cold ground of the forest, so it was unusual to see him at the house only a few days after the night of a Gathering. _

_I was sitting in the living room watching tv with my Dad when the knock came on the door. He rose to answer it and, when he didn't come back for a time, I rose from the couch an moved close enough to hear who it was but stayed out of sight. I was surprised to see Peter at first but soon my curiosity got the better of me and I listened in on their conversation._

"_Peter, the only reason I allow any of the wolves to stay at home is because they can handle the situation. How did this happen?" Dad asked._

_Peter wrung his hands. "I don't know. I guess the lock on the cage I have broke during the night. I don't remember much. This month was particularly painful."_

"_If it's that bad, then why do you insist on staying from the Pack?" Dad growled harshly. When Peter hung his head, I knew there was more to the situation than an escaped wolf on the full moon. "Was anyone hurt?" Peter hung his head and I knew I was right._

""_This morning... I could taste blood... I-"_

_I jumped when Dad shoved him into the door and held him there. "Who?"_

"_I don't know," Peter whimpered. "After telling you I was going to go to the hospital and see if anyone had been admitted for animal bites. There was no other blood so I assume it was only a bite."_

_Dad growled lowly, "You will find them and tell them. Bring them here if you have to. Your mistake, your responsibility." Dad let him go when Peter whimpered and leaned his head back. As he went to leave, Dad added, "From now on, your shifts will be done in the presence of the Pack." Peter nodded quickly shut the door behind him._

_A few days later saw me listening to a hushed conversation from the hallway again as Peter showed up empty-handed- only a name discovered. Jason Schuyler. _

_It took another two and a half weeks to track down said person. Dad was furious when he found out Jason was a thirteen year old kid._

_Jason came from a broken home. His mother was and alcoholic and his father was a workaholic. All the money his father brought home went toward paying bills and his mother's addiction. Jason was in a bit of a pickle when I met him three days after Dad and Peter went to explain what happened. Didn't know it was him though. _

_I had to go into town to buy groceries after the New Moon Social because, like normal, the Pack had cleaned out the pantry. I had my cart full and was heading to the checkout line. There was a young kid in front of me and at first I just thought 'he must be here to run an errand for his mom, how sweet.' But then I noticed he was dirty and his clothes seemed to have been worn for several days straight. He was trying to buy a jug of water and a loaf of bread with a five dollar bill. The cashier refused to take it because the total was over six. The kid begged and begged until I laid a hand on his arm._

"_Add it to mine." I told the cashier who looked at me before shrugging and ringing up my food as well. When the kid went to grab his two bags and bolt, I tightened my grip on his arm. "I'm only one person and I've got an awful lot of groceries here...think you can help me get them home?" I asked him. His answer was only a nod but he did seem to calm after that. He helped me get the groceries into my car, only put up a token resistance when I told him to climb into the passenger seat, and helped me unload the car._

_An hour and a half later, I had gotten us home, the groceries put away, and finished cooking dinner. Jason had been surprisingly helpful with the lifting and carting and I insisted he stay for dinner in payment. Again he was reluctant, but I won out. Well, I think it was more his stomach won out- while cooking dinner I could hear his stomach growling in the next room. After dinner we had just settled down when the front door opened telling me Dad was home. "In the living room with a friend, Dad! Dinner's on the stove for you!" I called out to him. I heard him move to the kitchen an rummage for some silverware in a drawer before moving toward the living room to join us. I greeted him from the couch where I was sitting but did no more as I felt Jason tense beside me. "Hey," I started, trying to calm him, "It's just my-"_

"_Jason? What are you doing here?" I heard my Dad say from behind me. I quickly looked between the two startled. I remember have a sudden flash of understanding and then thinking to myself, 'This is the kid that Peter bit?'_

_Jason, by this time, was almost shivering in fear. His eyes were closed, his head was bowed, and I would have bet money that, if he hadn't been holding his dish from dessert, he would have been cringing as if someone was going to hit him. I knew these were not good signs. Dad did too, it was the main reason he had the rule in place about not biting children. "Why are you here Jason?" Dad asked again, softer. "What happened?"_

_Jason was silent for a long time. Finally he started, "Af-after you and, uh, Peter left, M-mom, well, Mom w-went a little nu-uts." I watched Dad as he strode across the room to kneel in front of us. I had a nasty suspicion what had happened and hoped to the Peytabees I was wrong. Under my Dad's caring gaze, Jason continued with slightly more confidence. "I-I've always been known as a... a dreamer. I was always the p-person who had my mind elsewhere when I should have, um, been focusing on what I was doing. M-most times, my mind was focused on the supernatural. It was s-something my Dad encouraged but my Mom, uh, tried to stamp out. Mom th-thought that anything dealing with ghosts or magic was evil. She, uh, she thought that you and, um, Peter were some guys I had started hanging with and were dragging me down the dark side. I g-guess it was the last straw or s-something. T-that night, she kicked me out. S-aid she didn't want a witch's consort in her house- that if I ever wanted to come home, I had better purge the evil out of me and even then think thrice."_

_So I was half-right. Dad and I exchanged a glance and I hoped even harder I was wrong about the next part. "Jason, did your mother ever... hit you?" Dad asked softly._

_As soon as the question was out of Dad's mouth, Jason's head shot up. "No!" He shook his head with a furious earnestness that told us both he wasn't lying. I breathed a sigh of relief, I was wrong about that part. Physical abuse is most common with that kind of environment, and sometimes the most damaging. _

_Dad and I exchanged a glance, Dad's filled with an understanding sorrow, mine pleading with him. After a long moment, Dad nodded in response to my silent question. "Jason, do you want to stay here with us? It will at least be a place to stay until-"_

_Jason backpedaled, "I wouldn't want to be a bother."_

_I finally spoke up to this. There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that I was going to make my new-found friend live on the streets like had had been for the past three days apparently. "Jason, its not a bother. Heck, I was running way late today and if I hadn't convinced you to help me out, there's no way I would have been able to get all of the groceries home, put away, and had dinner ready for Dad, not to mentioned having already eaten. That's a big help for me. And I know I could use that same sort of help int he future." I saw his indecision and decided to try a slightly different tactic. "Here's a hint- Peter and Dad told what that bite you got meant, right?" At his nod I continued. "I'm not a wolf. I'm not even a were. I am one hundred percent human and I was born that way. That means that I can't do the things weres can. And Dad's usually too tired to help me when he gets home from work and dealing with pack business." At this point Dad had caught on to what I meant and took up my argument._

"_She's right. There's plenty here that she would need the strength of a were to fix, move, arrange, what-have-you. I also hate leaving her here alone. You wouldn't be a burden because you would be a member of this pack and that means you'd become family. It would mean a lot to us if you'd let us help you."_

_Jason glanced back and forth between Dad and me. He was still waring an internal debate with himself but we could tell the urge to be off the streets and out of the weather was winning. Finally, he nodded, "Okay...thanks"._

_The days after that passed relatively quietly. Jason stayed in the house most of the time but was a help with things around the house- I was finally able to rearrange two of the five rooms I had been wanting to for several months now. Before either of us realized, the two weeks until the full moon had flown by. Because I was human, I was only allowed the stories of his adventures during this time. It would have been too dangerous for me to be near the pack and thus my full moons consisted of me being home alone, laying on the couch watching t.v. and waiting, quite impatiently, for the sun to rise (though I usually fell asleep long before the sky started to change colors). But this full moon was too nerve-wracking for me to do much that was useful._

_Finally, as the sun was brushing the top of the trees surrounding the house, Dad walked in carrying Jason. While Dad looked no worse for wear, Jason looked horrible. There were scratches and bruises covering his body, not only form the transformation but also the fights for dominance I'm told happen during the acceptance of a new member of the pack. Dad told me later, after Jason had been laid in bed, that it was always hard to watch his pack change for the full moon but that night had been more difficult because he had to watch a child change for the first time. "That boy is remarkable." He told me. "He's is a submissive in the pack but through everything, he didn't call out. Not even once. Your friend up there is strong and determined. But I have a feeling he will need you now more than before, if what I suspect of his home life is true. Because I am the alpha and head of the pack, he won't accept comfort from me, but you he will see as something he once was and as a connection to that. I hate to put this responsibility on you, but take care of him, alright? I have a feeling he will be very important in the future." I nodded and remember thinking, 'there's no way I'm going to abandon him now.'_

_I'm glad Dad gave me that warning. The next night, Dad had to work late and I was just barely drifting off to sleep, when suddenly I bolted upright to a high-pitched bellow. I scrambled out of bed and scampered down the hall to Jason's room. I almost panicked when I saw that his bed was empty, but calmed when I heard whimpers from the other side of the room. He had woken, finally, and fell off the side of the bed. I called out to him as I tried to maneuver myself around the bed. "Jason, are you alright?"_

"_Don't." He whimpered, curling in on himself, and I stopped. "Don't come near me! I'm a monster."_

_The way he said it cut me to the core. I had seen others have problems accepting their wolves after the first change, but never had I seen a reaction like this. "But you're not, Jason. You're not a monster."_

"_Yes, I am. I have this secret side that I can't let anyone see because I can't control it."_

"_Jason, you're not supposed to control it. You have to accept that it's a part of you now." I hoped he didn't ask me why, because I honestly didn't know. It's one thing to know what to say because others have told you- totally different if you've experienced it yourself._

"_I can't, Art." He whimpered again. I could hear him crying as he went on. "There's this... thing inside of me, just beneath my skin... it's going to tear me up... break me down... I'll become a monster, just like it. And then no one will be able to love me. I'll be alone."_

_I understood at that part. For normal people, dreaming's all well and good because its not real. But the moment the line between reality and dreams blurred, a person has to fall back on what they know to be true- and Jason knew were's to be evil, to be monsters. It's a common misconception. I knew then what I had to do and moved quickly to kneel in front of him. "Jason, look at me." When he obeyed, I continued, "I told you before, I am one hundred percent human. Yet, all of the people I consider family are weres. All of them have a beast inside of them, just like you, I promise you, not one of them is a monster. From today one, I can also promise you this- your mother may have abandoned you, and you may have had to live alone on the streets for a while, but from this day forward, you have become part of a large extended family that will always take care of you." I swooped in to hug him as I saw him relax slightly. "I promise you Jason, this is the last night you spend alone."_

0o0o0o0_  
><em>

Jason and I have been family ever since. Even when my Dad was killed in a pack dual a year later and I had to move to Shreveport to live with my Dad's sister and become what I was for the years before I met Long Shadow, Jason and I still kept in touch. To this day he keeps me updated on pack happenings and even things that happen outside of the pack but influence St. Louis' supernatural population.

I best wrap this letter up. I've been sitting here for hours and I think Mum's getting worried. Stay safe, Gustov. I don't know what would happen if- nevermind. Just come home safe...please.

Artimus de la Lune

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><p><em>Wow! That is officially the longest chapter I have ever written. And it only took...how many days to write? To my regulars, I know I have a lot of other stories up but this is a story I've been tossing back and forth with a friend and I won't be the only person writing it.<em>

_Until we meet again,_

_Agon Dy_


	2. Concerns and Solace

Author's note:

I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter of this lovely little work, and I'd like to congratulate Agon Dy on a job well done. It really was a lot of fun to read. I'll be posting the response to her very soon. For now, enjoy the letter to Erik, and killing Solace isn't okay. She belongs to me.

Disclaimer:

Nothing in this chapter belongs to me accept for Solace.

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><p>Mon pere,<p>

As we have not used this system of letters in nearly fifty years, forgive me if my time of readjustment is far longer than it should be. Your directions as to the location were clear enough, as you hoped they would be, and the target in question was a far easier find than I ever could have anticipated. Solace too has joined me, I suppose by your request, and the typing of this missive is what keeps me distracted from watching her as she becomes better acquainted with our target.

She intrigues me, this creature I know only as Solace, and I wonder how badly the cut of loneliness must sting when one is forever bound to change, to be only what any man she encounters desires her to be instead of giving that truest part of herself over to a lover. She is what she is though, and I suppose it is not for me to allow my mind to make of her anything more or less.

I suppose you know that I received a letter from Artimus last night, and I'll confess, father, that it puzzled and worried me greatly. Firstly, she said that her father compelled her to write, a thought I found most troubling, as I understood her father to be dead. Do you know anything about this?

She said that things had been terrible there and that Corin had tried to help her all she could. The way she spoke of my Rin though, it concerned me, truly, the way she spoke of most things concerned me. She seemed so cold… so distant, and I found myself thinking that she was attempting to tell me only what I wanted to hear, not the true nature of things. Thus, I ask you, what has happened there with my being away?

Solace approaches, and though I trust her well enough, I have not known her long enough to know if it is safe to allow her to look upon these letters. Give my love to mother and to Treble, and let them know that I am safe.

Gustav

…

The quiet click of the keys and the absence of his eyes told her he wasn't watching her. Of course, this wasn't anything new to her, as he never did when they worked together. If she thought about it, Dessler was the only man who didn't make sense to Solace, and she wasn't sure how she felt about that.

Men were what she did, simply that and nothing more. For nearly five years, since age eighteen, she'd studied them, watched the things that truly made them the weaker species as far as intelligence gathering was concerned, and learned to take a great pleasure in being the force that, both literally and information wise, brought them to their knees. That was why she'd been sought out by the best known forces of espionage throughout the world. She'd finally settled on the American CIA, feeling a sense of patriotism and love of country. Occasionally though, provided she could sneak it under the radar, she didn't hesitate to go out on her own, taking a free lance assignment or two. That was how she met Dessler, or l'Ange du Mort, as he was known in the underground.

He was one hell of an assassin, that much was certain, and she'd tried several times to steal him from whatever employer owned his soul in Paris, to bring him to the safety of her handler's care. He'd hear nothing of it though and soon grew to dangerous levels of irritation every time she mentioned it.

She saw him push back from the table slightly and close the lid of the laptop he'd been working with. He sat, staring at nothing for a moment, and she knew he let the music of the club wash over him. It was his way of putting aside whatever had been on that screen and coming back to the assignment and what he was. He beckoned her to him, and catlike and silent, she obeyed.

Strattling his lap, she rubbed greedily against him and purred with an invitation that was more than just simple necessity to cover in the S&M club in which they sat. His eyes silently warned her to be still and keep to the protocol, but she knew that if she did that no one would believe they were there and happily together. Seductress though she was, no man would make an advance toward her unless that was what she wished, and willing or not, Dessler was going to protect her from that.

"Did you get it kitten?" he asked her softly.

She nodded absently and made a gesture to the carefully hidden transmitter in the necklace at her throat.

"Yeah Gus, I got it. He'll be an easy kill for you. There's no reason you shouldn't be able to get it finished tonight and be home, or… wherever it is you're taking the information by tomorrow."

"Good girl," he purred and ran absent minded fingers through the ebony of her hair. She knew those fingers, knew they were meant for someone he wished she was, but for one of those gentle touches, she'd let him call her by whatever name he'd like, see whoever he wanted to see behind her eyes.

"Kitten, you're distracted," he warned her.

"Gus, would you stop it," she growled, "I hate it when you call me that."

"Fine," he acquiesced, "Let's get out of here."

She followed him out of the club, and for the rest of that night, she thought about how much she truly didn't hate when he called her that.


	3. Song of Redemption

Author's note:

Okay, so the emotional rollercoaster of this chapter about killed me, and it's going on my list of the hardest things I've ever written. I think its worth it though, if it's crap, and I'm kidding myself, just don't tell me. Many thanks going out to my sissy Agon Dy for helping with the mob scene in this one, because I don't usually write them, and it was rather foreign to me. I'm really proud of the way it came out though. Also sissy, to credit you for the one quote in here that is word for word what you said. You know which one I'm talking about.

The song quote at the top of the chapter is from Josh Groban's Bells of New York City, which if you like having soundtracks for your reading, is the soundtrack for this chapter. Thanks for reading, and I look forward to getting reviews and feedback.

Aminta

Disclaimer:

Nothing in the chapter belongs to me. It's all the property of Andrew Lloyd Webber and Gaston le Roux. Though, as I've said in other stories, Erik, and now Gustav, can own me anytime they see fit.

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><p>Chapter three:<p>

Song of Redemption

"Sing to me one song for joy, and one for redemption, and for whatever's in between that I call mine. With the street lamp lights to illuminate the grey, and the bells of New York City calling me to stay."

Ma chere amour,

They tell me the winter months are cold here, and in mid November, I suppose cold may very well be a gross understatement. I miss the feeling of that cold, the feeling of the ice's bite as it burned through my leather clad fingers, but it seems your last letter has brought back to me a sort of cold that I do not miss, the cold of a lover unhappy and perhaps a bit scorned because her love has left her. Do not deny it to me amante du moi, for what sort of assassin would I be if I could not sense, nearly smell deception? You think to tell me only what I wish to hear in hopes that I will not pass my hours in an eternal state of worriment, but I can assure you that, so long as I am away from both you and Corin, it will be the case.

While we are on the subject of Corin, there are things we need to discuss. I understand that I am the one you imprinted upon, not she, but I do not appreciate the coldness with which you spoke of her. She is but a timid child, still learning to serve my own needs, let alone those of another, and the fact that she was bold enough to even fetch help for you, when she still fears my father so strongly, says much for how she feels toward you. You will not speak thusly of her again.

There is another matter that is of some concern to me before I hope to continue our attempts at getting to know and learn each other better. When you mentioned to me that things were terrible at home, you said that your father had compelled you to write and that he had said it might help to calm your inner wolf. Forgive me for speaking harshly, and correct me if I am wrong, but I thought your father to be dead? Thus, I am a bit confused, please attempt to explain to me what you meant by the things you said.

Matters of a harsher nature now aside, your friend Jason was a lucky boy and is now a lucky man to have you and your pack looking after him. I must confess that I envy him. I had no one but mother and father when my change occurred, and even they fought amongst themselves about it when they thought I wasn't listening. I think there are times, even now, that mother blames father for making the change without my even being awake enough to know what was happening around me. You see, my change was not a matter of choice but a matter of necessity.

…..

The first snows of a Parisian winter are always the coldest, perhaps because we have often been lulled into a sense of comfort by the mildness of spring, and the winter in question was colder than any I had seen thus far in my seventeen winters. My father's estate was a constant state of activity and hush whispers spoken behind closed doors, and in spite of every interrogatory I put the staff through, no one would speak. You see, fear of the Phantom had been brought upon them all, and they knew that to speak his secrets may very well have gotten them fired, or worse…

It was nearly a month later, in early December, when I found out what the true nature of his plans had been. It was time, he had decided, that mother should be brought back to the stage.

"Scandal be damned," I remember hearing him tell her amidst the chords of dark music swirling forth from his organ, "I will not keep you as a caged bird forever. You were born… created to sing, and you shall sing, if it is the last thing I do upon this earth."

"And you Maestro," she asked him trembling a little, "What of you? What will happen to us if they find you? You are among the most wanted men in Paris for the scandal, and if you were to ever be caught in the theater…" Her words trailed away as the first tears fell from her eyes.

He softened considerably, and from my hiding place in the rafters, I saw him place a leather clad finger upon her lips.

"Hush ma voix, hush. Do you trust me?" He asked her gravely.

Her expression changed to one of total surrender at the question, and she smiled softly up at him.

"Oui Maestro, with my life," she assured.

"Then know this," he began, and I saw the old flame's of a phantom's passion rise up in him, "The Angel guards, the Angel hears and sees, and only upon his own blade shall he ever parish."

A silent understanding passed between them, and I had the distinct feeling I had missed an entire conversation. Of course, I know now that I had missed far more than a single discussion, but an undisclosed part of my father's life… a code, part of which he found it necessary to recite to her to ease her fears. He reached for her, and before I turned away, having no wish to see my mother and father in the throws of passion, I saw his hands fist into her hair, drawing her head back hard and forcing her to her knees. This was not a degree of control I had ever seen him possess, and I had no idea how to feel about it. At the time, I simply filed it away for later contemplation.

The voice, dark and lethal, drew me from that contemplation and caused me to nearly slip from the slender beam on which I was perched.

"Come down Gustav. It is time, at least, some of my secrets become yours."

He'd found me again, damn him. I still had yet to figure out how he did it, but there was no place in the house where I could safely hide from those eyes. With an exaggerated slowness I crept down, making my way to the chair across the room from him. If I had any wish to be honest with myself, the man still frightened me, and the closer I could remain to the door of the music room, the safer I felt.

"Oui mon pere?" I asked quietly.

"She is right Gustav," he admitted with sadness in his eyes, "While nearly twenty years have passed since the scandal, that theater may never be safe for me again, but for you…"

My incredulous look was enough to tell him that I understood and did not agree to this, but the unflinching gaze of those tawny golden eyes was enough to tell me that I had no choice, and consent was not required for whatever it was he had just seen fit to do with me. Share the Phantom's domain, obey his dictates. As you are well aware, this has not changed.

For three long months, he trained me endlessly, and my time was never my own. Mother, however, remained in the peaceful oblivion their rehearsals together created, and I had the distinct feeling that was the way he wanted it.

During those months, the shadows became like old friends to me, and quickly I learned their shelter would serve me better than the indistinctness or safety any cloak or trench coat was able to provide me. I learned too the skills of observation and listening, and the nature of the illusions that fueled his world of mirrors that never showed the same thing twice and strange voices heard in the night. In essence, the Phantom had been reborn, but it was no longer obsession and passion that gave him life, only the most simple and primal of needs… the need to protect.

"Ma mere," I called from the bottom of the stairs one Friday night in early February, "You must come now, or we will be late. Father will never forgive me if we are."

She scampered down the staircase, the staccato clicking of her heals a perfect punctuation to her nervousness and my stress.

"Je suis dessole mon fils," she apologized "I am simply not certain I can do this, not again, not there and after all that happened."

"Father would not have prepared you for this and told you it was time if he had not thought you ready ma mere. Come now, it will be all right"

And all right it was for most of the night. Her disguise held perfectly, she sang like the angel she was, I was never seen, and no one became the wiser for it. That was, until the carriage ride home.

Time after time, I have told you that I will never kill an innocent, but if I had had the skills to kill that night, the child who loosed hell upon mother and I would have been at the top of my long list of contracts to be called in. He couldn't have been more than five or six, raised on tales of the Opera Ghost and his bride as stories and threats to disobedient children, 'If you do that again, the Opera Ghost will come get you in your sleep and take you away to his cellars,' that sort of thing, but that night, I had never wanted to kill someone so much.

"Mama," the boy cried out, grabbing at his mother's skirts, "It's the Ghost's bride mama. The ghost is here mama! Please, don't let him take me away! I didn't mean to put worms in Emmy's hair! I won't do it again! P… please, don't let him take me!"

For the briefest of moments, I stopped where I was, frozen and terrified, but to my mother's credit, she kept walking with her head held high and proud as the accusations and insults were leveled relentlessly at her. Having seen this, I was able to move, the ever watchful shadow at her back, while reminding myself that all we had to do was make it to the closed carriage father had taught me to drive, and we would be safely on the way home.

"Phantom's whore! Monster's slave!" I heard them chorus, and though I could feel the heat of my anger rising, I simply stepped from the shadows, took her hand in mine, and led her onward.

The lone gunman came out of the dark so quickly that if I had not been trained in my father's skills I never would have seen him. My thoughts became desperate… frenzied. I had been taught nothing but basic defense with a blade, and this man clearly had intension to kill. I practically threw mother behind me, diving forward to shelter her as best I could. That was when I saw his face, and I knew I was dead.

"Raoul," mother breathed like some ancient curse, "Raoul, no!"

His eyes, strange and haunted, searched for her, but when they settled on me he no longer had a need to search.

"I will have what is mine bastard/1" he growled, his hands shaking as he raised the gun.

I contemplated trying to convince him that I was not my father and that I had no quarrel with him. In fact, I contemplated saying just about anything that would keep that gun from being fired, but at the moment I attempted to speak, I felt the gaping wound in my chest, heard my mother's scream, and saw the world around me fade to what I thought would surely be eternal darkness.

Father tells me it was three days later when I awoke, but for my own part, I have no idea. Three days, he says, that was what it took to complete the transformation, and that I should be thankful that I was able to remain asleep for it all, because the pain would have been unlike anything I had ever known and would ever know again.

I remember the feeling of awakening, heady, alive, hollow, and filled with a wild and insistent hunger that simply did not believe in the word no, and though I do not think it necessary to tell you what you have most likely already discerned, Raoul, compt de Chagny, died alone and begging a newly born vampire for his life on a cold night in early February as the bells called the faithful to evening mass.

…

With shaking hand and shallow breath I finish this letter, knowing that you, my huntress, are the only one who possesses its secrets. I suppose, my redemption, in some twisted way, but I fear that, if the church thinks of my kind and profession in the sort of light that it does, there is never true redemption for me. Not that I seek it.

Be at ease my love. Do not worry for me. I seek the piece of my own music for a few short hours of focus and bliss before my work claims me again. Give all my love to Rin and the rest of the house, mon amour.

Je t'aime,

Gustav


	4. Labyrinth

Disclaimer:

All Phantom characters are not mine, though anyone who reads my work knows my feelings about Erik and Gustav owning me.

Author's note:

Forgive us that it took so long to get this updated. We had a third writer that we thought would be doing Erik's letters for us, but there were some difficulties. Thus, I'm taking over writing Erik. So I hope you enjoy. Also, the quote is from S.J. Tucker's Come to the Labyrinth. -Aminta

**Chapter Five:**

**The labyrinth**

"It only takes the tiniest of fires sometimes to light the way you knew was always waiting for you there, and in the heart of matters, it's the journey keeps us warm. The lights that lead us where we are to go. May you raise your eyes and know with every step… you are not alone."

Staring down at the letter resting on the elegantly carved mahogany of the study desk, Erik's practically marble expression would have given away nothing to the average observer, but wasn't that the way he had intended it, he mused sardonically? He had read that same letter over one, if not a hundred times, and still the internal monologue of his response refused to be clear.

His eldest had changed in a matter of months, that much was certain. No longer did the words of the focused and hardened killer sit before him. Now the musings and concerns of a man taken from all he loved filled these letters.

"You have found your weakness at last mon fils," he spoke aloud to the letter.

Half a century ago, when the elder watched his son, his favored student, bring home a young woman, nearly broken, he was convinced the weakness had been found. But, if anything, Gustav's constant doting and retraining of Corin Dubois had only made the months when he killed more vicious.

'So much the same,' Erik breathed quietly. He saw it again flash through his memory. The kill had never been particularly pleasurable for him, simply a matter of necessity, but in the months after he had rescued his beloved Christine from the bastard, he had killed with a vengeance. In a way, he hated Gustav for being the one to finish Raoul in the end, but it was fitting, he thought with a righ smile. Ah so fitting, that the younger Ange du Mort would make his first kill in the form of the family plague.

"Quill to ink and ink to parchment," he scolded himself as he heard his Master's words come back to him.

"You are distracted Erik. Should you ever be found in such a state, you will be killed, or worse. You must never forget this.

His back straightened as the familiar feeling of the quill touching parchment came to him.

…

Gustav,

It is understandable that one should have a time of adjustment after such a long period of written silence. Especially as the bond of sire and childer gives us… extraneous advantages. I suspect that, by now, my information is safely on its way, and you will be nearly home. You will forgive me for forcing you to remain longer than I would have liked to, but as I am certain you are aware by now, Artimus and I are recovering from things taking a rather shocking turn between us.

Ah Solace… she is a mystery, even to me, my pet. I wish that I could offer you more to soothe your thoughts, but while I understand that seduction is necessary, I have never fully cultivated the appreciation for it as a form of information gathering. You know my opinions of keeping a woman in the field. None the less, she is the best at what she does, and I will not reject an offer of skill where it is given. Let it be enough to say that, while it is constantly she who attempts to "Bring you into the light", so to speak, I believe that it will be she who comes to us, in the end. Do not fear for and concern yourself over her, it will only cause you to act as less than what you are.

It is myself that Artimus refers to when she tells you that her father compelled her to write, and as I have just sent her letter to you, I am certain that she has told you why. Have I become so cruel, so inhuman in my years Gustav, that I would be the source of a child's suffering and never realize?

I wish I could tell you that I had moved on from it now that she is safely healed and tended, but I cannot. When I looked at her, looked into those eyes, I remembered times in my own life that I would just as soon have forgotten. Times my so-called "Masters" had abused me in much the same way. Yes, I know that she will heal, and I know even that I will forgive myself for what I have caused. Still, it does not ease the pain of the moment.

I learn slowly that she means no harm in her tones and ways of simply making things less than what they are. She has just never known any other way, and in the days when she has, no one has cared to hear the things which concern her. After this most recent incident, I do not think she will view Corin with such indifference again, as without Corin, she may very well have never survived.

There are more matters that warrant discussion, but they are not things I trust to the written word. Thus, we will sit down to briefings when you return. Be safe, my favored.

E.


End file.
